Oil Spills

story 1 with Jirus and Campbell.

"Still in love with the darkness after all these years."

The dungeon walls are made for candle light.  Tallow is precious in these parts though, and he would rather the cold silk of the moon to the fire that so often blinds eyes and burns souls.  Sunlight will come soon enough, and a new change of guards along with it.  For now, the grave watch knows it is better for them to leave him unattended rather than watch his activities.  The day-walkers will learn soon enough that their light hides salvation.  The devil may come as a thief in the night, but the savior is a sneaky groom anxious for his bride.  What was the point of having friends in high places when they would all eventually be made low? 

Jirus looked up from his letters, a rueful grin curving his lips. He stood to greet his guest.  There was no reason a man such as himself shouldn’t have visitors.  He was more free than those who had the liberty of coming and going as they wished.  The guards knew it, and the others as well.  He wasn’t near any of the others, whether in comradery or physical proximity, but he was as close and as silent as their shadows. 

"You know me well, old friend," Jirus said, opening his arms. 

Campbell leaned forward just enough to be courteous.  He took two steps back before Jirus could fully embrace him. It was the awkward greeting of a stranger who had once been a friend. Jirus let none of this register on his face. He simply watched, and let himself be scrutinized in return. Let Campbell make of him what he would. In fact, Jirus was counting on it. He wanted to see where this might go.  This conversation was only one in an anthology of histories between them.  Father and son, brothers in arms, teacher and apprentice"what would they be tonight?

"I know you well enough," Campbell said, putting his hands behind his back. 

Looking for a dagger there, perhaps?  Campbell was all diplomacy, but Jirus wondered how many of Campbell’s old ways lie behind the decorum and all those stoic smiles. 

"Have you come to refresh your memory?" Jirus asked, raising a brow. "You recall my nightly routine of scribing, at least."

"I have no cares for your habits, Jirus," Campbell said.

"You may, in time, care very much."

"I was not made to care, nor can I afford to. There are those such  as yourself who do plenty of it for those of us who can't."

"I wouldn't consider myself among those," Jirus said. "You flatter me with undue honor. Your mother, on the other hand, was quite a virtuous soul--that is, if my memory serves me right.  How is she, these days?"

If Campbell had been stilted before,  he had now turned to stone. There was no fear in his expression, nor the hatred that it was so often coupled with. No anger, no bitterness. Only that solemn fortitude,  that strange, endless determination. A formidable opponent, was he.

"She died at your hand, you will recall."

"Will I? Well I suppose I must, if you're so certain about it.” 

Jirus casually waved a hand as he eased back onto the tree stump that served as a desk chair.  Nothing so regal as the cushions and thrones Campbell had succumbed to, but plenty for his scrawny skeleton to perch on. 

“I was only looking out for you, you know,” Jirus continued.  “She was going to kill you, and I thought you might like your life."

"If it had been my time, I would have died."

"If! That is a good word, that.  And I’ll take that as your gratitude for my intervention in that unfortunate happenstance which resulted in a dead mother and a lost son. Now tell me, why did you really come to see me?"

Jirus leaned forward as he asked, bathing himself in the moonlight that, although sharp, seemed to invite a cloak of shadows around his shoulders.  Just the slightest tremor in Campbell’s brow, a little tic on the left near his temple. Good. Jirus would break him yet. All in good time, and with there being peace in the land, time was all they had. Jirus wanted to see how long it would take for Campbell to go mad. Jirus might be in love with the darkness, but he also craved chaos. They both did. 

Campbell thrived on the senseless hysteria of war time"all better to show his cool exterior and focus, block out the noise. But when there was no noise save the memories inside his own head"what would Campbell do then?  

"I have watched you grow," Jirus said quietly, prying ever deeper.  "We were brothers once.  In many ways we still are, yet you distanced yourself from me as if I were a rabid dog you can't shake off. What troubles you so now, that you seek my counsel?"

"I seek nothing from you." The ice in Campbell’s throat strained his words to a whisper. "I only remind myself that your bricks and bars are still well in place."

"Ah, so it was comfort that you wanted?" Jirus leaned back on his stump, a small smile toying on his lips. "If what you need is to reassure yourself that I am locked without hope of escape, then believe your very eyes. You can even throw away the key. Perhaps a rat will come crawling through the sewer and deliver it to me."

"Rhymes and rhetoric won't help you."

Campbell’s lip curled as he said this, although Jirus was certain the man was completely unaware of it.  Even better, Campbell’s hands had curled into fists.  Jirus didn’t need to see the other man’s hands to know it.  The tension in Campbell’s shoulders gave it away, along with the bulge in his biceps.  Let Campbell stress himself into another streak of grey, and wonder why his locks were thinning in the morn.  Jirus withheld a titter of laughter, but a whistle of air escaped his lips anyway. 

"No, but the gods will." Jirus’ voice betrayed his barely held delight, and he dropped his tone to a whisper, although he was no less excited. "Gods and galaxies both, their constant is the dark.  Light exists only in the heart, my friend. What does yours look like? Or have you set yourself aflame, burning for glory, nothing but vapors and embers dancing around an empty shell?" 

Campbell looked at him"steady gaze, tic smoothed back into place. The seams of his sleeves screamed a moment or two longer before Campbell forced his posture into something appearing like ease.  Jirus smiled to himself, content to wait. He could wait. He could save a little more pushing for another day. Pull up a memory, dust it off for Campbell to see clearly, and then twist his head until he questioned if he had done the right thing. That was all it took.  A second guess could lead to a thousand doubts. 

"You have your own hell," Campbell said. "Perhaps you should tend to it, and I will keep mine."

"I have my cares in order, Campbell.  But yours seem to be getting away from you. Best you watch out, lest you be ruled by what you were not made for, what you can’t afford."

Author's Note

I had to repost this because apparently the characters decided to switch names. they promise that it'll work though, so I'm just going to go with it.

any and all comments/feedback/pointers are welcome (: